Lady Luck
by JadeFlicker
Summary: She is called Kira. A cook, not a chef. And she finds that it's one thing to feel happy about making others happy. It's another to find other people that make you happy. To be fair, one rarely associates their happiness with the men of the Gourmet Yakuza. Even if their one of them is a vexing man. Sticks to canon, but really, Match needs more love. MatchXOC. Rated for later on.
1. Chapter 1

**This is my first chapter of **_**Lady Luck**_**. I just edited it big time (I can't believe how many careless mistakes were in here) and am now happier with it. Even if you already read it, I would like you to reread it as it's a lot easier to read now. But admittedly, that's just my selfishness talking. **

**And I promise, I have always tried to keep the characters as un-OOC as possible (but again, not a lot to go off on) and to try to avoid Mary-Sues. I do ask you to give my OCs a chance though, as I won't reveal every trait (good and/or bad) all at once. It simply isn't good writing, and my style is on slow buildup side.**

**This is an OC story and there will admittedly be a lot of OC's. Can't be helped. Writing this type of story with not a lot to go off on in terms of history or the people that surround him, I have to make up what kind of people would surround Match. So yes, you'll see a good deal of the Yakuza politics Match is involved in and has to deal with later on in later chapters.**

**Disclaimer: Toriko is not mine. Obviously. OC's are though.**

_**Chapter 1**_

Food Luck.

It is what defines the Gourmet Age.

But what is luck really?

Is it happiness?

Is it fortune?

Is it love?

Or is it a creature all of its own?

Its own creature separate from all the things people associate with luck?

And most importantly…

What kind of person must you be…

What must you do?

To attain the greatest of luck?

* * *

"Nee-sama!"

"Just a minute!"

Huffing softly to herself in exasperation, a dark-haired woman quickly finished dicing an onion—yes, just a regular old onion—before deftly picking up the board and tilting it into the nearby pot. Running her knife along the board to scrap the stubborn stray pieces into the boiling water, she grunted as she set the board down and wipe the blade with a rag. Kissing the hilt lightly, the woman murmured her thanks to the knife before slipping it into a sheath strapped to her upper thigh. By the time the stew would be done, it would be dinnertime and she would already be back and ready to dish it out.

With a practiced motion, scarred fingers selected a paring knife from a holster on her upper left arm as she walked over to a bare looking cupboard. Opening the badly tilting door, she stuck the paring knife into the edge of the backboard and levied the fake back off. Pulling a cloth covered basket out of the hidden compartment, the woman tucked the basket under her bare arms before placing the wooden board back in place. Thanking the small blade in a similar manner she had with the other knife and checking everything over one last time, she made sure the Fire Marimos were properly secured inside the stove and put a lid on the stewpot. Usually, the lady didn't like keeping things burning when she wasn't in the kitchen. Hated it, in fact. It was just one of those things that simply wasn't done as a chef.

But she wasn't a chef, she reminded herself. Not anymore.

Besides, the delivery had to be made. The harvesting of the vegetables had taken longer than usual, therefore the late cooking. If she wanted to make deadlines, she had to compromise. She'd built her little kitchen to be hard to burn anyways. One can only burn dirt and slabs of concrete debris so much after all.

Hurrying out, the woman briskly greeted the young man with shaggy brown hair who had called out to her earlier. He himself was fitted out in a tuxedo and wore a pair of dark sunglasses. If that wasn't conspicuous enough, his stiff, attentive stance was enough to tell even the most casual of observers that he was here on serious business with a woman who (despite living in a hut) was in conclusion, no regular woman.

Reluctantly, she allowed him to help her put on a heavy, black duster she usually kept hanging on a hook on the back of the door she just came out of. Shifting the wide-brimmed basket to her other arm, she locked the door and checked the one heavily barred window nearby.

"Okay, let's go," she announced busily as she ran a hand through her hair. Upon closer inspection, her hair was black with a natural sheen of some dark, dark shade of purple. Yet, red streaks were prominent, twisting in and out in an almost uneven mess. The dark maroon was not as obvious as it once been, but it was clear that this woman had once had her hair dyed in a rush. "Shin, you realize you needn't escort me every week during my deliveries. It's understandable if I had a bigger haul, but I wouldn't be able to get so much in a week's time."

Shin simply shrugged, following slightly behind her passively in comparison to her brisk, almost aggressive walk. "Tell that to Vice-Boss then. These are his orders, Nee-sama."

'Nee-sama' snorted again before grunting, "I will. His subordinates must have better things to do than escort a single woman from one corner of the city to another. For all his being a Vice-Boss, he doesn't seem to being distributing his underlings in an efficient manner." A quiet cough caused a cool glare to be thrown in Shin's direction. "What's so funny? You think I won't tell him so to his face?"

"No, I know you will, Nee-sama. Just as you do every week," The young yakuza member remarked innocently. Cheeky brat that he was. Pointedly avoiding the deadpan, narrowed eyes, he continued, "With all due respect, Vice-Boss is only worried about you. With what you're ferrying and your willingness to work with us, you are a precious ally and asset. Vice-Boss just wants to make sure nothing happens if he can help it."

"I can take care of myself," was the responding huff. "I made due fine in this city before I was bought into the Gourmet Yakuza's attentions. I will not have my capabilities questioned."

"Of course, Nee-sama," he allowed agreeably. But his focus had shifted to a passing individual. Although the oily man gave them a wide berth, that did not stop him from eyeing the female skin not covered by the worn duster. Since she only wore a tube top, scandalously short denim shorts, and a pair of ankle tall boots, it gave lecher a good eyeful of her bare legs, stomach, neck, and breasts. At times like these, Shin really wished that 'Nee-sama' would dress a bit more conservatively, if only so he wouldn't have to deal with his impulsive desires to kick out a pervert's teeth as often. A slight shift in the lecher's direction on Shin's part revealed the outline of a gun against his jacket, and just like that, the man disappeared. "But none of us mind escorting you. I'm happy when it's my turn to walk you to HQ and back, so please don't be too hard on Vice-Boss."

All he got in reply was a rather cranky sounding 'hmph', but it was enough to make him smile.

* * *

Nerg City was not the most livable of places.

Certainly, it didn't hold the same merit or the same level of danger as designated danger zones within the Human World. Of course, it would seem like nothing compared to anyplace in the Gourmet World and its extreme weather patterns and beasts. But it still wasn't the most livable of places. In Nerg City, the criminal capital, anyone or anything that lived there lived it while being involved in crime. If you didn't, you starved and perished away to dust. The Gourmet Yakuza tried, but they had their own problems.

Or at least, that was it for the most part until a mysterious woman appeared one day in the rotting corpse that was Nerg city. Despite her appearance, she was a chef who insisted she was a cook. Designating a little area as hers, she set up a single, one-roomed hut that consisted entirely of a kitchen. What little clothes she had and the tools she scavenged were all worn, and only her blades and eyes shone with a commanding steel. The ingredients she used were nothing special, quite literally. This woman grew her own vegetables, all which were so ordinary that were abnormal. At the peak of the Gourmet Age, it was strange to see someone use plain onions and carrots and celery. It certainly kept people from stealing said vegetables. There was simply no worth in such plain vegetables, if at this time they could be considered vegetables at all. Who would want a regular, stunted onion when they could have an Onion Banana, a Motor Onion, or the variety of more delicious veggies? It just wasn't worth stealing when so many other options were avaliable.

But this did not matter to the starving, said group consisting mostly of children. Children and their families who were perishing in the dust because they didn't involve themselves in crime. Couldn't, because what criminal organization would take on a lot of starving urchins?

And it was these urchins that she took up feeding. Her time and days seemed to be spent whipping up the next meal of the day to dish out to the ragged line that would appear at her lone window twice a day, every day, weeklong. Although said hungry group thought the lady scary and intimidating, giving no quarter and offering no outright comfort, she never turned them away and never ignored them. When they got in trouble or scared, they could seek shelter with her and her blade-like gaze would be cast at whomever they were having trouble with. She could not give them all the nutrition they needed, but she made sure they got two square meals a day when they came around her hut.

For the kids and abandoned families, the scary lady made Nerg City just a little more livable and made them feel a little more stable.

Of course, with the attention of the city orphans also brought the attention of the Gourmet Yakuza. And it wasn't long before the mysterious lady and the criminal organization of the Gourmet World met.

* * *

Said mysterious lady whistled in appreciation at the large, intimidating structure that was the Gourmet Yakuza Main House. Here was some of the biggest names in crime, and it showed in the plain, but solid, and LARGE entrance. It was thanks to the power, prestige, and reputation of said Yakuza that allowed her to leave her hut-for-a-home so casually. There was very few who were willing to mess with something stamped with the insignia of the group, marking it as part of their territory. More than once did she find herself tracing the mark on her door, not quite believing that she somehow found herself under the protection of criminals.

Not that it was unappreciated.

Upon seeing them, watchmen in tuxedoes and shades similar to Shin's immediately opened the gate to allow the pair in without them having to break their stride. It was only after they passed two more gates and more groups of men in black did they reach the heart of the complex. There, they were met by a heavily scarred man with a shock of blonde hair. In opposition to the black ensemble worn by the surrounding men, he wore a very clean cut white suit over a high-collared purple shirt. But what truly separated him from the crowd weren't the clothes, but the air of easy confidence he seemed to exude.

It was in front of this man that they stopped in front of. And the woman was the first to speak.

"Match."

"Kira."

The woman, Kira, acknowledged the greeting, "How's Boss Ryuu?"

"Healthy as ever," Match replied casually with a nod. "Boss had to leave for some business this morning. Sends his regards."

"I will thank him when he returns," she replied graciously.

The corner of Match's lips lifted as he held out a bent arm, "Well, shall we?"

Kira took the offered arm in a delicate, almost dainty, gesture. "Let's."

Shin watched as they both disappeared into the main house. Then he could finally let the smile crack out across his face. His mental evil cackling was interrupted by call from Louie to take a look at the newly delivered ice guns. Successfully distracted, he hurried along in the most dignified manner he could, as befitting a member of the Gourmet Yakuza. Never mind that he was giddy, because of course he wasn't giddy. Members of the Gourmet Yakuza didn't _do_ giddy. Not at the new ice guns, the trip, nor the fact that it always made him just a bit excited when he saw Vice-Boss and Nee-sama acting intimate (however much they denied it).

Nope. Not at all.

He did, however, wonder how Vice-Boss was going to tell Kira about their trip.

* * *

"Mmm. Is that Cinnamomile Tea I smell?"

"Yep. Fresh stock today too. Never had it before myself, but hey. We eat, we learn."

"I think you'll like, Match. It's one of nature's simpler masterpieces. Smell that. Isn't the Cinnamomile leaves' scent of apple and cinnamon simply divine? Isn't it a timeless, aromatic combination?"

Match chuckled as he allowed the tea's aroma to waft and fill him before taking a sip. It was a delicious, whimsical, yet comforting flavor. As had become a little tradition between them since these little meetings begun, Match and Kira sat across from each other at a low table, steaming teacups placed before each of them. The basket Kira had bought in with her had already been taken away so that the contents could be properly disposed of. She would have the basket back by the time she would leave. For now, they conversed with the air of two old, old, familiar friends. One could hardly believe that they'd only known each other for a year and a half. And even then, they'd met only a handful of times.

Match himself could remember meeting her for the first time in precise detail, mostly because simply how bizarre she seemed to him. From what he had gathered before that first meeting, the woman had set up a _soup kitchen _of all things. In NERG. An idea Match himself had contemplated many times given a chance, but not even the Gourmet Yakuza had the time, money, or manpower to set up a system going. And besides the Gourmet Yakuza, precious few others cared for the starving children in the Criminal Capital. To hear someone—a lone woman all by her lonesome of all people—set up and maintain even a small kitchen all by herself with no backing of a group or organization…

Preposterous.

Meeting her in person was even stranger. Back then, her hair was nearly entirely maroon; though even by then, her roots had already been starting to show. Honestly rather plain, she had a rather out of place honest face and a suntanned complex. The three things that threw him off was her snapping, round eyes, her audacious authority, and the sheer amount of tattoos she had. A cat tattoo that faintly reminded him of a leopard wrapped around her shoulders, back and torso with its tail wrapping around one leg. Her legs seemed to simply _swarm_ with a myriad of inked rats, lizards, and mice and two bats were drawn under one shoulder without interfering with the inked cat. These tattoos paired with the overly-familiar way she handled her kitchen knives honestly made a rather intimidating picture.

It also helped Match understand why other criminals hadn't already run the soup kitchen into the ground.

The resulting growth she was able to coax from the ground was also something rather miraculous. It was also proof that she made due and was entirely self-supportive and independent.

But even the independent could use some help.

"By the way, the Troublesome Trio say hi. Apparently, they actually got past the First Wall this time before getting caught. They won't say where, but I think they got through right over where the break station."

Match chuckled at that. Said three orphaned rascals (who reminded Match vaguely of Shin, Ram, and Louie at a younger age) had made a game of trying to break into the Yakuza Compound after getting more comfortable with Match. Whenever they found a way in, Match made sure to patch up that security breach. It was helpful, making him feel better about their security in the case of actual trouble. "I'll have it looked into then."

Kira nodded and laughed under her breath before switching subjects. "Meanwhile," cue a quirked eyebrow. "Must I be escorted from my home and back every time I make these trips? There must be something else you can put your men to work on."

An old argument that they never and probably never will settle.

She was surprisingly accepting of the help the Yakuza offered, but still only accepted little bits and pieces of their charity. Their first meeting—bless his Food Luck he had stumbled at that moment or the introductions wouldn't have gone nearly as well with a knife through his throat—had left him with the impression that she was rather prideful. He was wrong, but Kira would be the first to admit that she was essentially running a threadbare charity, all the while warning him to expect nothing back from her. Charity was acceptable as long as it was for her "clients". But she would not become a lackey for the Yakuza.

Things had gotten easier over time, more relaxed. It took only a bit of seeing how much the members of the Gourmet Yakuza truly _cared_ about the kids of Nerg for Kira to be more willing to accept a bit more of their goodwill as well as the friendship of many members of the Yakuza. And things had progressed from there, with Match still essentially the main ambassador between the Yakuza and the soup Kitchen dubbed _the_ Kitchen.

"Match, is something bothering you? You seem to be drifting off an awful lot of late."

"Hmmm. Sorry. A lot's been going on lately, that's all."

Now, they were able to sit and drink tea and converse like this civilly, fondly as friends. She looked at him with open concern in her eyes, those dark eyes no longer as guarded and suspicious of him as they once were. Most of the maroon had faded from her hair. Only the ends of her swept-back shoulder length locks still hinted at another color beyond the naturally dark hair that had an undertone of purple. He now knew that the cat tattoo that stood out starkly against her skin was an Ashera cat and that the ink on her skin help hid many scars that decorated her skin. Match had laughed with her as she sheepishly admitted the scar that ran parallel over one eyebrow was from her getting cocky with a paring knife and a rather funny incident involving a saucepan, an excitable friend, fire, lemons, and several mushrooms. They now met once every two weeks to converse as well as for her to drop off items Kira had…confiscated from drug dealers she found preying upon her ever growing list of "clients". It was something she had always done, but now she bought those narcotics to Match to dispose of.

It wasn't much, but it was a sign how much she trusted them now; trusted Match. It warmed his heart to know that she trusted them to take care of the poison that threatened her carefully guarded flock. He was also aware of how much he now tended to confide in her. Nothing really about the affairs of the family as much as his personal thoughts and feelings about decisions and happenings. Still, it was more than he had told anyone else. He was the Vice-Boss of the Gourmet Yakuza after all; family came first and personal affairs second.

Well. In his defense, she was a good listener, knew how to keep her mouth shut, and gave pretty damn good advice.

She was his friend, a friend to his subordinates, and a friend to the kids of Nerg who he treasured.

Which is why telling her about his upcoming trip was a bit difficult.

"Things have been pretty slow lately. So I thought I'd take this chance to go on a trip. Thinking about bring back something for the kids."

"Any ingredient in particular?"

Kira had presented that question curiously, part of the natural flow of their conversation. She couldn't say she like that brief hesitation that resulted from it. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she took in the man sitting across from her. Said man was taking a large draught of his tea, finishing it.

"Have you heard of the Century Soup?" Match asked.

The tattooed woman perked up at that. "The phantom soup that's said to only appears once every century. I believe that it would be a soup that consists mainly of ingredients the ancient gourmets would be to get their hands on, ingredients that no longer exist."

Match made a low noise in ingredient. "I'm heading over to Bar Heavy Lodge with Shin, Louie, and Ram in two days. Apparently, someone knows the location of the Soup, and is putting out the beacon. Some wealthy guy who's paying a hefty sum to whoever successfully retrieves the soup, I think. We're gonna see if we can get to that Soup before anybody else and bring some back for the kids."

"Match…" Kira murmured, a combination of touched, empathetic, and horrified that didn't show on her face other than the slight widening of her eyes. "To call that many bishokuyas together…that would mean that the ingredients probably in a designated danger zone."

"I know."

Kira shot up onto her knees at this point. "You can't!" she hissed, her eyes narrowed back into dark slits. "Match, it's only been 13 months! Barely over a year and even less since you made a full recovery!"

"I'm alive in the end though," he shrugged, setting his cup done with a click.

"You vexing man! One does not simply face a rampaging Heavenly King, survive, and then go gallivanting off to an environment that will most probably kill you after only _13 months_!" her voice was tight and rose a pitch at the end, but her volume remained steady. "Politely speaking, are you out of your mind or just looking for a creative way to die?"

"Neither," Match barely suppressed an eye roll. The Vice-Boss of the Gourmet Yakuza is a dignified figure. He does not roll his eyes at overly tattooed sarcastic women. No matter how aggravating they are. "This isn't the first time we've gone to get something nice for the kids. What's the big fuss?"

A raised eyebrow answered that all the ingredients of late had been mostly from special shipments and secret deals. Not all of them legal. And none of them were particularly life-threatening in the way designated danger zones tended to be. "Do you even know who this informant is?"

Match didn't repress the slight wince this time around, "No."

The woman had been poking and implying that their information network really wasn't what it should be for a while now. He had assured her otherwise, but the recent result of a supposedly simple search was proving in favor of Kira's opinions. Match let his eyelids slide close as he exhaled through his nose. When he opened his eyes again, his facial features softened to see the woman across from him with an actually visible worried expression on her face. Given, it was only a small frown and the slight upturn of her brows, but it was more than what she usually showed so it was saying something.

"Look," Match sighed, his voice may have been a touch more gentle. Maybe. "We'll only be gone for a few days. A week at most. Our information network says the informant is very wealthy, so they'll probably transport us there too."

Kira almost visually seemed to chew on this for a bit, letting a gearing silence fall and rest between them before finally sighing. "Fine. It's not like I have a say anyways. I'll tell the kids you've gone on an adventure then, and to expect something special when you get back."

Match nodded, content. "Thanks."

"Just…" a pregnant pause. He couldn't help but watch with an edge of amusement as she seemed to struggle with what she wanted to say. This unsure side showed rarely so he was going to enjoy it while he could. In the end, she just sighed in what felt to be a combination of exhaustion, frustration, and exasperation before resting her forehead in one hand. "Call in Louie, Shin, and Ram later would you? I'm going back to the Kitchen to dish out tonight's dinner, and I'll back afterwards to make a late dinner for you four, you hear?!"

His lips quirked up at the not-question, and Match's smirked grew at her glare. "What? You're making us a well-wishing, good luck meal before we go?"

"Something like that," she grumbled before draining the rest of her tea.

* * *

Kira stared at the Gourmet ingredients that she had set before herself. She hadn't let herself touch any ingredients like these for a long time now. Besides narcotics and drugs, she had stuck with painfully "ordinary" ingredients, And that was something seeing as Nerg circulated all kinds of ingredients, even the ones not ordinarily on the open market. Instead of plain milk from a stringy cow outside of Nerg, she was using milk from Milk Fruits. Instead of chicken breasts from feathery farm chickens; she was using chicken breasts from a Breaded Chicken, with skin so thick and crispy when cooked it was like it was already breaded. Even for breading (to make it a crunchy instead of a crispy skin), instead of normal peanuts she was using…

Her eyes flickered to the small matchboxes that sat innocently above the chopping board.

She was using those.

The only ingredients she had brought with her when she had fled and exiled herself to Nerg.

The kitchen was empty, the chefs having already retired, so she had her privacy and no one to peer curiously at her unusual nervousness. Heart pounding, she picked up one box and flipped open the lid to peer at the contents. And just like that, the tension slid out of her body like water off oilskin. Touching the small treasures inside, warmth and love filled body and she let it. When she was finally able to take her eyes off the little spheres in the box, she was able to look at the rest of her ingredients in a loving light.

Because those little treasure reminded her and stirred those embers in her heart just barely kept lit by the mundane ingredients she had constricted herself to. Those ordinary ingredients with their tired, sad, and too-soft voices. She didn't want to admit it, even to herself, but their lack of voice had been wearing on her for a long time now.

But these ingredients…Kira ran her fingers over the large hunk of meat, one knife already in hand as a content look settle on her face. She loved all food. Even those narcotics that she herself would never eat or feed to anyone else and those ordinary ingredients. She loved those little herbs she had to nourish and coax from the ground with an almost frightening degree of persistance. Loved the milk and beef that came from the cow to the point it sometimes hurt.

But her heart would always be reserved for these kinds of ingredients. Gourmet ingredients that had the power to truly create and make memories and to bring people together. These ingredients she would always cherish the most in her most secret of hearts.

The ingredients that surrounded the woman seemed to almost glitter and shine, as if basking and responding to the dark-haired cook's attentions and love.

Feeling more empowered and relieved than she had in a long time, Kira set to work.

* * *

Match was simply watching and smirking in amusement as Ram, Louie and Shin joked around, now more relaxed as they were technically as off duty as they'd ever get. It was in the middle of Ram's retelling of how Janis (another member of the Gourmet Yakuza) had flinched a number of jeweled rings from a fat old lady as an orphan that Kira bought in four trays. As soon as she entered, the mouthwatering smell simply filled every corner of the room. Match would be hard-pressed to admit it, but in that moment, you could have knocked him over with a feather. The other also fell silent, and all eyes were laser-focused on the trays balanced on arms of the tattooed cook.

Match distantly noted how he'd always thought it was strange that Kira's arms and hands were bare of tattoos. Just bare and clean and tan with their fair share of raised scars.

What was placed before them looked just as mouthwatering as it smelled.

"Honeanut-crusted Breaded Chicken breasts," she announced as she put down the last place in front of Louie, "With Two-Ended Veggie Stalks. I used one side cucumber and one side asparagus. The accompany sauce is a combination of mustard from a Mustard Flower, Tenpaclove, and various other spices. Enjoy."

The first bite was….heavenly. The second bite was just as good. And the third—he looked at his happily-exclaiming subordinates and the crinkling lines that had appeared in the corners of Kira's eyes—was even better.

"How is it it?"

Match….Match gave her a small, genuine smile. Not that slight smirk, but the same quirk of the lips and a softer look in his eyes.

"It's delicious. Thank you."

It was a small grin. But the way that small, brief, childishly open smile lit up her entire face would stick in Match's mind for a long time.

* * *

It was only after she was safe in the privacy of her locked Kitchen that Kira let herself go.

After closing and locking the door, having bid Ram goodbye and watching him disappear into the night, she leaned back against the sturdy door before letting herself slide down onto the ground.

Having come to the Criminal-Producing Factory of the world, she hadn't expected to be happy. Happy like this at least. It was one thing to feel happy about making others happy and comfortable. It's another to find other people that make _you_ happy and comfortable. Though watching her—when they becomes _hers?_—boys so thoroughly enjoy her cooking was gratifying in a way she couldn't while feeding the orphaned starving kids. It was just two different situations.

And to be able to cook like that again…

Sighing she rested her forehead on her bent knees.

It was only a one-time thing. It was okay. They didn't know after all. And as long as they didn't know, things would work out fine. It would be better than fine.

They would come back safely. And she would have her walks and listen to the jokes and funny stories from Ram, Louie, and Shin. And drink tea with Match. And have their quiet conversations and share in their small jokes and continue their endless argument of "Kira-doesn't-need-to-be-escorted."

Yes.

She would just have to be patient.

* * *

Food Luck.

It is what defines the Gourmet Age.

But what is luck really?

Is it happiness?

Is it fortune?

Is it love?

Or is it a creature all of its own?

Its own creature separate from all the things people associate with luck?

And most importantly…

What kind of person must you be…

What must you do?

To attain the greatest of luck?

My luck killed people.

If I'm not careful, my luck will kill more people.

I am called Kira.

I love food.

I hate my luck.

And somehow

I now find that I really care about these boys in the Gourmet Yakuza.

So please.

If nothing else.

Let this stupid luck of mine make sure they come back safe.


	2. Chapter 2

**Okay, so I'm back. This took me a really long time to type. Eighteen pages and I did try to keep everyone as in character as possible. Also edited it, but there still might be some mistakes. Reading my first chapter, there were A LOT of mistakes, so I'll be fixing that and reposting that (but no, I'm not making any big changes. Just little spelling stuff and realization that I was typing so fast with the first chapter that some words appeared only in my head and are absent from the page. So that was particularly awkward to read and I feel very ashamed…**

**Anyways, ONWARDS!**

**Disclaimer: Toriko not mine. Kira, Troublesome Trio, Lala, and future OCs are. Because let's admitted it, it's needed in a story. The whole reason this was written was because Match needs more love, and there really isn't much background on him. **

**Anyways…**

_**Chapter 2**_

"Come'n, Lala! Don't you want your dollie back?"

"S-stupid Ronnie! Give it!"

A little girl with short, dirty blonde hair ran after a grinning boy that was waving a dirty, threadbare rag doll around over his head. Gritting her teeth, she pumped her thin, dirty arms harder as she willed her bare legs to go faster. But it was fruitless. The boy older than her by two years, bigger, faster, and kept a tauntingly short distance ahead of her while running BACKWARDS.

Boys were stupid.

And she would never admit that she was _this_ close to crying.

Ronnie would just laugh at her even more if she did anyways, and then continue his teasing.

"_R-Ronnie!"_

"Ah, is the wittle crybaby gonna 'ive us some waterworks?"

The doll was suddenly plucked from the boy's hands, which caused Ronnie to come to a skidding halt to look at his suddenly empty hands. Spinning around, his stunned expression quickly morphed into a more sheepish, grumpy, and slightly guilty look. Crossing his arms, he scuffed a bare foot against the dirt ground, raising a small dusty cloud. Looking down at him from a few feet away was Kira with a single raised eyebrow and a bland look on her face. Behind her, peeking out from behind her legs, were two other boys with somewhat similar sheepish, pitying expressions. Both were given Ronnie's most scathing and accusing of glares.

"Traitors," he hissed under his breath as Lala finally caught up, huffing and smiling brightly.

"Yea, well," Kira drawled flatly. "If they are traitors, what does that make a bully like you?"

Ronnie flushed red at this as he watched a huffing Lala trail over to Kira through long, unruly bangs. His pout deepened a little as a large and admiring smile lit up the little girl's dirty, round face to match large, sparkling dark eyes. He understood her feelings of admiration perfectly; Ronnie really looked up to the woman himself. That admiration didn't stop the dark feelings from bubbling up in his chest like dark, hot tar.

"I'm 'ot a bully," he muttered harshly.

"Then don't act like one," was the blunt reply in a bland, almost uncaring voice. The owner of said voice dropped the doll back into small, eager hands. "It's idiotic, and not the way to go about getting the attention of the girl you like."

The corners of Kira's mouth quirked as Ronnie, the most impulsive of Troublesome Trio, let loose a rain of colorful curses at her coupled with and a great deal of stuttering. Her lack of anything other than faint amusement caused Ronnie to turn even redder in humiliation before spinning around and streaking off. Snorting, Kira looked down to the two boys staring at the black-haired boy running away.

"You better go after him," she commented drily to the mops of blonde and brown who were already inching around from behind her legs. The children of Nerg were so underfed and malnourished; sometimes, it still shocked Kira that 12 to 14 year old boys could be so short. Especially considering the fact she herself wasn't that tall to begin with, so short to the Kitchen's cook was truly SHORT. "You know how he gets. Make sure he isn't mugged while running around like a headless chicken."

The two boys nodded to her solemnly before quickly taking off after their friend. And Kira watched them leave, letting herself believe—even if only for a moment—that they were really just children, running off after a friend who had left in a pout.

But she knew at heart that there were no "real" children in Nerg. Any of the children who lived was a little old man or woman in a child's body. Or damaged. They all knew the realities of their world at its worst and its cruelties. In the wild, creatures and plants did what their nature had them do. In the deprecated city of Nerg, filled with people who could make their own choices, life was cruel and the gray city was dead. There was no mercy in this place.

So to be able to see children playing lifted her heart, even if she had to stop it.

Bullying was bullying, she would not condone it if she had any say in it.

Distracted by these sobering thoughts, she almost didn't feel the gentle tugging on her hand. Looking down, her half-lidded gaze met a pair of large, dark eyes. Blinking in momentary confusion, Kira scooped up the little girl so she didn't have to crane her neck in a way that was uncomfortable. If they Troublesome Trio were short, Lala was a height that was painful to look at. Literally. It was easier just to hoist the girl onto her hip to talk to. Acacia forbid, the little girl was light enough that doing so was an easy task.

"What is it?" she inquired quietly, in a tone that was a touch softer than the tone she used on the boys.

"The w-weeds and chores now?" Lala chirped happily with a wide smile.

Huffing in amusement, Kira nodded in agreement as she started walking back towards her sorry hut; the one roomed space she slept, ate, and cooked in. "Yes, thank you for the help. Let's get it done before I start cooking for the dinner shift."

Arriving outside the Kitchen, she walked into the large square of cleared dirt where she grew her meager vegetables. Recently, she had even managed to acquire a stunted apple tree. Said tree was placed on one corner of the patch of overturned, gray soil. Little bits of green grew in neat lines, each plant an equal portion of green and dead or dying brown. It was a tired effort she had coaxed from the ground, but even the dull green was a relief from the browns, grays, and black of the city and she still loved every plant she tended as well as the earth they grew in.

Honestly, what she managed to cultivate wasn't enough and she still had to pick up shipments from a run-down farm that still sold regular fruits, vegetables, and meat. But it was more manageable now, and she didn't have to tap into her accounts as often nor for as much money as before. A good thing too. Wiring cash from her formal life to supply for a new life didn't sit well with Kira, not to mention a tedious and risky task.

Putting Lala down, she set the little girl's rag doll on a rock on the edge of the patch under the stumpy apple tree before stooping down to start pulling weeds that choked or would choke the vegetables or tubers. With efficient movements, she gently or quickly tugged the rough weeds out. Like everything else in Nerg, the weeds were their own brand of tough. Lala copied her in her movements, if a little more clumsily. Said weeds went into a compost pile sitting on the corner of Kira's hut for later use.

Weeding, checking each plant, watering (which required them to physically haul water from a nearby crudely dug well ), and a number of other backbreaking chores was strenuous, but it didn't take a genius to do it. Soon, Kira found her mind drifting off as she went through the mundane chores.

It wasn't reasonable, but she did like her work. However mundane, repetitive or tiresome the task, she was spurred on by the fact that every plant (even the weeds) fought their hardest to live. Live and give their life to her people so they in turn could live. It wasn't their fault their voices were exhausted by the time they reached her kitchen. They simply weren't as hardy as Gourmet ingredients, and couldn't make due with such poor soil. Every day was a fight to stay alive, every day was a fight to keep them alive.

She was just so thankful they fought to live, admirably and persistently.

So this had happened every day since she had come to Nerg. One might think it was uncharacteristic that someone so stoic felt such a strong emotion, but it was the one thing from her old life that Kira could not let go of. It was her constant; this thankfulness, this love, this devotion. And as her constant, this task of working while filled with content and thankfulness became something of meditation for her. It relaxed something coiled tightly in her, this obsessed devotion that soothed her heart, stomach, and mind. It filled her body as if she were a cup, and it had poured smoothly into her like water from a pitcher. Always.

She just didn't feel like herself if she didn't do it.

But despite how thankful she was, on this day, other thoughts seemed to be mixed in mistily. It didn't distract her much, but it—this worry—stuck to her determinedly.

It had been two weeks since Match, Shin, Louie, and Ram had left. She got information that the man who had put out the information about the Century Soup was none other than Colonel Mokkoi, and that the location of said soup was the one and only Ice Hell. Match and the other three had gone with the first group with none other than Heavenly King Toriko, who had made quite the impression on her informant. Apparently, the Glutton of the Heavenly Kings had destroyed a falling chunk of ice bigger than the tanker of a ship they were riding on all by himself, saving all the passengers in the process. And that was all the information she could get.

Despite that, unease still filled her chest at the thought of a Heavenly King on the same ship as the Gourmet Yakuza Vice-Boss.

After all, Match had only just fully recovered from his bout with the Heavenly King Zebra, and had come away from that battle with scars covering him from head to foot.

It had been two weeks since then, and the even the members of the Gourmet Yakuza had started to voice their unease. Some were even starting to talk about going to Ice Hell themselves, as Boss Ryuu refused to so much as acknowledge that her boys could have perished among the blizzards and storms of Hell's environment.

Her boys.

There was a slight stutter in Kira's movements (a pause, a little jerk in her hands before she moved on to inspect the leaves of the next plant) as she realized her own thought process.

Kira had a good relationship with the members of the Gourmet Yakuza's Main House. But Shin, Louie, and Ram were different. _Match_ was different. Shin, Louie, and Ram were the Troublesome Trio, but older. She fed them, and them having been former Nerg urchins, accepted her cooking even though they could now afford to eat much better than her dishes made from plain ingredients. They would do heavy lifting for her and always told her that her cooking was the best, though she never believed them. How could they say that when they were always eating her threadbare food? Out of all the members she ended up interacting with, those three were special. Among all black-suits, they were the most eager to help, most eager to please, and the most eager to protect. It was cute, and added to her habit of overlapping their image with the image of three orphan boys she took particular care of.

And Match…

Match was pride and stubbornness and a quiet firmness and a steady gaze. He was quirked smirks and steaming cups of tea and a soft, warm look to those less fortunate than him. That man had never demand that she trust him. No, a man of action, he had soothed her suspicions and paranoia with steady, slow actions. As if she were a bristling cat.

Chuckling to herself, Kira brushed her fingers of the head of her Ashera tattoo as she stood up to go get more water.

The blonde Vice-Boss was her friend. An equal who at least understood her want to help and supported her. Such steady support and unwavering faith in her ability to support the cause was not something to be spat on. He wanted the same things she did, and was persistent enough to get his way. Not that she was any less stubborn or crude. She honestly never met anyone who could face her so heads-on in a battle of wills, both so use to getting their way. That's why she hadn't argued with him when he told her about the search for the Century Soup, they wouldn't have gotten anywhere and Match's departure would have been on a sour note between them.

Such a vexing man. When he came back, she was going to force him to weed her garden for a good week for taking so fucking long. Just rub his incompetence in his face.

"Okay, Lala, that's enough for today," Kira ordered as she stretched backed, bones cracking loudly. "Gather the potatoes we pulled out. I'm thinking of starting a Blue-Button Soup today. How does that sound?"

The look the little girl gave her (as if Kira had hung the moon, stars, and was the reason the sun shone during the day), said enough.

It wasn't as if Kira was doing it especially for her. There had canned so much food in the past to make supplies last longer, and while most were already gone, the Kitchen now had a plethora of leftover canned food. A bit of this, a bit of that, and a bit of something that made be a bit past its expiration date (but that could be fixed with the right ingredients). It was high time to use it, and a stew in which anything and everything goes in was the fastest and most doable solution. Still…

"You'll have to have a button though," Kira told the little girl solemnly, with all the seriousness of a priest.

The little girl instantly ran to her rag doll to pull out a small, worn, blue button that had obviously been meticulously cleaned. With equal ceremony, Lala placed the tiny thing in Kira's larger, darker hands. At some point in their brief relationship, Lala had gotten the notion that Kira could make delicious soup (and lots of it) by adding a blue button to a pot of water. From thereon, that belief was unshakable and Kira felt telling the little girl otherwise was like telling a child that Gourmet Santa Claus, the Easter Egg Bunny, and the Delicious Tooth Fairy were not real all in one go. Even she wasn't blunt enough to do that. Giving the blonde child a nod of thanks and a quiet thank, she scooped the little girl up and started to make her way back to the Kitchen.

To Kira…Lala was special, or the closest. A beautiful child of (what Kira estimated as) 8 years old, Lala followed the older woman around and helped her in the Kitchen. As she had nowhere to go and no means of independency, the girl was taken in by Kira. She now slept with the dark-haired woman on a pallet that was rolled up and stuffed under a shelf during the day, had learned to chop vegetables and slice meat in even, consistent chunks, and determinedly did the same chores Kira did.

It reminded the woman so much of her younger brother when he was younger that she didn't have the heart to say.

Just as she reached the doorway of the Kitchen, she felt Lala stiffen in her arms. Following a suddenly wary Lala's gaze, Kira stiffened herself and blinked. There, toddling over from a ways, were four figures. All of which Kira could recognize.

Putting Lala down, she whispered quietly to the child, "Go find the Troublesome Trio and tell them that Match and the boys are back. If you meet any trouble, use the whistle. I'll come to you no matter where you are."

Nodding, the child quickly made herself scarce, reminding Kira that Lala was also a child of Nerg. Turning back to her company, she strode up to meet them. The stopped with only about a foot of distance between the two parties; the men somewhat sheepish and trying not to show it (they were proud members of the Gourmet Yakuza. They did not do _sheepish_) and the single woman openly assessing their physical states and conditions with a critical eye for detail. The slightly bedraggled male-turned-overgrown-boys suddenly feeling as if they were a particularly difficult or frustrating ingredient the cook was dealing with. It wasn't a good feeling and very foreboding. After all, frustrating or questionable ingredients usually ended up at the sharp points of the woman's many kitchen blades.

"So," Kira huffed as she discretely swiped a hand across her nose, a copious amount of sarcasm dripping from her voice. "You lot have fun on your little romp to gods knows where?"

"What gave it away?" Match bantered dryly.

She gave him a look that told him his wit was unappreciated. "Besides the fact that you're limping, Ram's missing an ear, Louie's missing an eye, and you're all moving around like you've been put through a meat grinder, molded back into shape, then chewed on?" she quipped haughtily. "Not much. I'm very proud of my eye for detail. Don't worry, I'm sure no one else will notice besides me."

Shin winced, "No mercy, Nee-sama? How cruel."

Match snorted at his subordinate's pitiful comment, "She's a cruel woman."

"And I'd be the first one to admit it," Kira added in without missing a beat. She stood there with her arms crossed, and a stoic look of calm displeasure written all over her face. One would have thought the men had only trailed mud into her home or something of the like. "You're supremely late. A few days you said. It's been two weeks, and you come back without the Soup and only more wounds to show for it. What do you have to say for yourself, _Vice-Boss-sama._"

Match raised an exasperated eyebrow. "Are you done yet? Because I really do have something some things to tell you. I thought I'd come to tell you first so that you wouldn't rip me a new one, but if you are going to anyway, I might as well first go inform Boss Ryuu that I'm back."

"Oh for—," Kira dragged an equally exasperated hand down her face while waving at Match. "I'm done, I'm done, you vexing man. You four stay around until I'm finished cooking, and I'll serve you up a poor man's welcome-back meal. Lala went to go get the Troublesome Trio, so they'll be wanting to see you. Come to the window, tell me what happened to take you so long."

Afraid for more scathingly digging words and condescending looks, the four followed her meekly back to the little hut so that she could prepare the coming meal.

* * *

"Bishokukai?"

"Yep," Match sighed as he leaned back against the outside window ledge. Despite the grim topic, he couldn't help but smile a little as he watched Shin, Ram, and Louie play and tussle gently with the boys Kira had dubbed as the Troublesome Trio. Both sides played happily, but both sides also did it with an undercurrent of wariness. While the older men were always careful with the boys' malnourished, weaker bodies, the boys could sense that the older Yakuza members were not in their top form. On the side of the window, Kira went about her business. She knew that Match would keep an eye on the boys, so she kept an eye on a shy Lala hanging around the edges of the playing group as she continued to listen to Match. "I'm heard of them briefly mentioned by Boss Ryuu before, but _only_ mentions. Do you happen to know anything about them, Kira?"

"And what makes you think I would know anything, idiot-Match?" Kira responded nonchalantly. "I'm just a cook."

Match snorted, "Just a cook, my ass."

"I had not known you swung that way," Kira commented, just because she could and it was amusing. She was given a sideways, flat look that spoke volumes of "_really?_" for her trouble.

"The strange thing is that you're never surprised by anything. Not when we, the Gourmet Yakuza and me the Vice-Boss of all people, arrived personally on your doorstep. Not when I told you who the client was, where we were going, or who we met. You act innocent and unknowing, but you knew everything, didn't you?" It wasn't a question. "You were a little surprised when I mentioned Living National Treasure Setsuno, but not much else. And you know what that makes me think?" Match turned to face the woman fully, leaning against the counter on crossed arms to look at Kira's turned back with slightly narrowed eyes. "I think you knew what happened all the way up until we entered Ice Hell. You knew that Heavenly King Toriko was aboard and you knew I went in the same group as him. You guessed that a Saiseiya would be sent to a take care of the ingredients kept by the old Gourmets, ingredients that no longer exist. You weren't surprised that it was Bloody-Yosaku's (a famous Saiseiya) student, so you weren't surprised when we were taken to Life. You weren't even surprised when I mentioned the Bishokukai, for all the way you keep asking things as if you didn't know what's going on." Match stopped here, and there was a tense pause between the two of them, echoed only by steady, nonstop chopping of a knife against a wooden board. "Kira…I've never questioned your past or your motives. There are a number of questionable subjects around your existence that other family heads keep bringing up, but I never looked into it and I don't plan to. That's your business and I'll wait until you're willing to tell me yourself. But you know things. You always seem to know things, and this is important. To me, at least. I want to know where these monsters are coming from, and if we have to face them again in the future. So please, tell me what you know, Kira."

There was only silence save for the sound of steady chopping (_Thunk! Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!) _followed by the scrape of metal against wood and many small things slid with a _plop!_ into some thick liquid in a rough cauldron held over a insistently cackling fire. Match sighed and withdrew, thinking that Kira wasn't going to relent.

"I don't know about the Bishokukai," Kira admitted. "No one really those. Only those of high-ranking in IGO know the full story. Setsuno-sama being one of them," Kira sighed and turned around to lean back against the counter, arms crossed as she peered at Match tiredly. "I do know this though. They are one faction that will eventually go to war over what I'm guessing is Acacia's Full Course, or at least, control over all Gourmet ingredients. How do I know this? Because they've been kidnapping good and famous chefs for years now. Anyone who cooks well enough knows of this. No one talks about it, but we know. Also, they're seeking very rare and very hard-to-get Gourmet ingredients that can maximize Gourmet Cells, and they always take as much as they can. As if to boost someone's Gourmet Cells all at once. It's obvious to anyone within certain loops that that group is gathering an _army_."

"An army?" Match breathed, not quite believing it. "Of people like Tommyrod and Barrygamon…an army of monsters like them?! Are these Bishokukai _insane?_"

"It's not as insane as you would think it is," the woman shot him down as she walked over. Bracing both hands on the counter, she leaned forward to look Match in the eye with an intensity that left Match feeling a chill run down his spine. "IGO does the exact same thing. They collect the best chefs and hone them, as well as gather Gourmet ingredients that can enhance Gourmet Cells. Match, _what exactly did you think the Four Heavenly Kings are for?_"

And Match froze, the gears in his mind turning. It made sense, and honestly, Match had thought of it before. After all, having met Zebra, it wasn't such a jump of imagination. What in the world would be the purpose of protecting that monster (because IGO was sure as hell protecting that Heavenly King), if he didn't have some use? The beast of a man could take down pretty much any creature the human race would ever want to eat. So what was with all that power, if not to fight beasts just as powerful as he?

But…Match then met Toriko. The cheerful, grinning man and his cheerful, determined partner. And Match…just couldn't connect it. Toriko, despite those moments of monstrous shows of ability, was _human_ to Match. Superhuman maybe, but still human. The thought that his friend was more or less IGO's living weapon to use as the organization saw fit was…horrifying. Suddenly, Match could see the portrayal Kira painted for him very clearly. A clash of Titans and Gods, with normal people being swept up into the chaos. All for the mythical Full Course of Acacia. And if half of the stories of those dishes were true, well, history had humans going to war for much less.

After all, in the Gourmet Age, whoever controlled the ingredients and the cooking of said ingredients controlled the world.

"Anyways," Kira sighed and moved to continue her work. "It's not any of our business. We normal people can't reach that superhuman realm. Besides, I'm more interested in that chef you mentioned earlier. Komatsu, was it?"

Match blinked before pushing his previous thoughts away. She was right, the frustrating woman. He would chew on the information she had given him later. Food hell, he was slightly skeptical that she didn't already have Komatsu's life history memorized down to a pat. "Yeah, do you know him?"

This was around the time that Kira pulled out a whetting stone and starting sharpening one kitchen blade after another as she left her soup to stew. "Of sorts," she hummed cryptically. The sound of the knife sharpening wasn't a harsh, grating sound, but rather, almost a clear ringing. Match wondered what kind of material that particular knife was made of. "Any chef that is partnered with a Heavenly King is someone worth noting. That, and as far as I am aware, there never actually has been another chef to partner with any of the Heavenly Kings. And now he's determined to remake the Century Soup with modern-day ingredients as Toriko recovers, no matter how long it takes. So he must be an interesting one, one way or another, don't you think?"

"True enough," Match agreed. "There was something about him that just…draws you in."

"It's called love at first sight, idiot-Match," Kira taunted with an edge of teasing glee. "You took one look at his beautiful eyes and fell in love with the Heavenly King's chef partner. How daring!"

Match snorted and rolled his eyes. He chose not to mention to her how he had been stunned when he first spotted Komatsu entering the Heavy Lodge Bar with Toriko, thinking that the Komatsu's round eyes held a startling similarity Kira's. Except where Komatsu's eyes were always wide with innocent wonder and cheerfulness, Kira's eyes were always narrowed with suspicion, stoicism, or taunts. Match mentally shook himself. So he met someone with an eye shape that somewhat reminded him of Nerg's resident cook. He was so glad that Boss Ryuu (who could read Match like an open book with big fonts) wasn't here.

Otherwise, he would tease both of them that it wasn't Komatsu that Match was falling in love with. And as much as Match respected his Boss, the old man didn't know anything and sometimes had a tendency to talk too much when it came to his "children".

* * *

A few months later saw Match back at the Kitchen, this time alone, with Kira waiting for him at the doorway. Even Lala had left earlier with the Troublesome Trio to go play with Match's Entourage Trio, who had also just got back. After a couple of months, Lala had gotten over her shyness towards the older men with Kira's encouragement and seemed to adore them just as much as the boys. In turn, Ram, Louie, and Shin grew almost as fond of Lala as they were to the Trio. They and Match would joke that Lala was Kira's little duckling and the Kitchen's upcoming 2nd cook.

"We're back."

"And actually on time this time," Kira quipped dryly. With a gentler quirk of her lips, she continued while inviting Match in. "Come on in. How was your trip into IGO? Was there any trouble?"

"Nope," Match replied with his own lip quirk as he made his way into the Kitchen. "It was a peaceful trip. Apparently, being a personal acquaintance of a Heavenly King and a Living National Treasure has its perks."

"So Chef Komatsu really succeeded in making the Century Soup?" Kira questioned as she leaned her hip against one cement counter while crossing her arms. The only sign that she was keen for details was a particular sharpness in her gaze.

"See for yourself," Match smirked as he held up a container covering in rough canvas. Kira's eyes widened in surprise, and Match's smirk widened a smidge. He did so enjoy catching the uptight, always-in-control woman off-guard.

"Match...you didn't..."

Match walked over to her and placed the case on the counter before taking off the sheet. As he did, an aurora seemed to weave itself around them and through that part of the room. Watching Kira's wonder filled face, something in Match's gaze and posture softened. He watched quietly as Kira reach out to brush the case gently with her finger tips, a gentle smile grew upon her face to match a loving gaze. In those moments, her face was so open in wonderment and happiness that Match couldn't help but stare. Having never seen her show any emotion openly besides controlled outright hostility, this suddenly vulnerability both fed his wonderment as well as threw him for a loop. And…a small part of him wished he could show her more things that would make that face soften like that; the face of a human woman and not just of a watchful guardian.

Because honestly, it made him feel like he did something right.

"It's beautiful...," she murmured quietly, her tone colored with something that was close to worship. "Chef Komatsu actually made this? And this is what the original Century Soup looked like?"

"Yeah," Match confirmed, his deep voice having also dropped down to a whisper as he watched her with hooded eyes. "It looks and smells exactly the same."

Lifting the case carefully, Kira peered at the Soup through the clear glass carefully, examining it this way and that with a curious, sharp eye. Opening the top, she took a whiff.

"It's a very well blended and well strained soup," Kira murmured, deep in thought. She didn't seem to be very aware of Match's presence and almost seemed to be talking to herself. "There's definitely soup stock from a Stock Pelican in here. I'm getting a taste of Cartilage Cabbage, and either Ice or Snow Katsubushi. This particular texture…he probably used Balk Potatoes for starch. There so many ingredients. And he did this with only a taste of the original and a little more than 6 months!" She sighed in contentment and appreciation before putting the case down. "Thank you for letting me see. You should probably be getting this to the kids now. I can heat it up for you a little more if you want."

While she was talking, Match had taken the chance to pull out some little chipped sauce dishes Kira used to taste her cooking. Setting the dishes down, he gave her what could only be described as a self-satisfied smirk.

"Does it look like there is more than two mouthfuls in there to you?"

Only then did Kira notice the very small amount of soup that was actually in the container. Brows knitting in vexation at missing that, her eyes cleared into another expression of startled disbelief that she directed at Match.

"You left some for me?"

"No," Match smiled with all the respect and trust and comradeship he felt for her. Picking up the container, he poured what was left of the soup into the two sauce dishes. "I left some for both of us to share a drink."

"You say it as if we were sharing a bottle of alcohol," she murmured, sharing an amused, secretive smile and a quiet 'thank-you' in return as she picked up the dish delicately.

Match snorted as he picked up his own dish, "It certainly has that effect. Half the time, I wondered whether it made us happy or just really drunk."

"The ingredients were happy, and they were cooked by someone who listened to them and shared their happiness. It only makes sense that it resulted in a very happy soup," Kira comment with a thoughtful air. Raising her cup, she gave him another small smirk. "Thank you for the food. Cheers."

And with that, both of them pulled back and let the soup slide smoothly down their throats.

But Match had forgotten to mention something to the woman. Having only remembering the joy the soup bought, he remember the effects the soup had on their faces only after he felt his the muscles in his face start to twitch spastically. And he wasn't the only one feeling the effects.

"D-d-don't look!" Raki stuttered as she laughed and covered her face, so uncharacteristically happy and embarrassed that it made Match grin more easily and laugh as well. "I'm making such a weird face right now!"

"Come on! Let me see!" he chuckled. He might not be so far off with the 'drunk' idea. Gently grabbing her wrists after putting his dish down, he pulled her hands away from his face. Her face was just as comically contorted and blissful as all the others he'd seen. It was just so uncharacteristic and happily distorted that Kira could practically see the extra laughter in Match's eyes as he looked at her. Admittedly, seeing his usually angled face was just as funny. "See, my face is the same. Nothing to be shy about. There isn't any reason why you shouldn't show you're happy once in a while. We can't act like so stiff all the time can we?" His combination of a pointed smirk and his continued distorted grin caused another snort of laughter to catch Kira off-guard.

"You vexing man!" she cried as she laughed through her blissful smile, still half-heartedly attempting to take back her hands from Match's grasp.

"Hey, I brought you soup and _I'm _the one vexing!" he returned easily. He refused to let her go. "What a cruel woman."

Neither took particular notice that as they laughed and chatted and made fun of each other's distorted grins that Match's grasp had slid from her wrists to her hands.

And as his large, calloused hands closed around her smaller, equally calloused hands, she grasped back.

Long after Match had left and Lala had returned to be put the bed, Kira was leaning against the spot on the counter she had been against that afternoon. Even though all the lights had long since been put out in the sky as well as the hut, the woman was still awake as she toyed with a chipped sauce dish. Despite the fact that the moon that night was blocked by clouds and that the part of the city they lived in was never lit, the gently waving aurora that grew from a single drop of Century Soup still rolling around in the sauce dish cast Kira's face in shadows. Besides the movements of her hand, she was curiously still with a serious intensity in laser-pointer gaze.

If Lala had been awake, she would have been very curious about the expression on the older woman's face. Made strange by flickering shadows, her face looked darkly demonic one second and almost sadly nostalgic in another. But it was made stranger by the edge of what could only be an almost _anticipatory _air about her.

"Very nice, Komatsu," she murmured quietly, her whisper barely just a light brushstroke in the silence. Tipping the dish up, she continued to whisper to someone only she could see with a suddenly, strangely unfocused gaze. "So you've finally start to take the first steps. Big things are coming, and you need to go faster and _further_. Until then…" she trailed off.

Sighing to herself, Kira downed the last drop and effectively plunged the hut into darkness. As she had told Match earlier, it was none of her business now. Choices and resolutions were made, and made worlds apart. The cook could do nothing.

She would just have to deal with things as they came around.


	3. AN I and Comments

**Sorry, not a chapter. Just a note.**

**So anybody who is actually interested in this fanfiction, you may have or may not have noticed my edited 2****nd**** chapter as well as the 1****st****. **

**The story of what happened is this:**

**I just got into college among other things and the night I finished and posted up Lady Luck's Chapter 2, I had something called Insomnia Cookies (some of you out there may know what I'm talking about). So, hyped up on a combination of sugar, caffeine, the caffeine in chocolate, and Gatorade, I forgot an essential part of Chapter 2. So I reposted that…**

**While I encourage readers to reread the 1****st**** chapter, but don't really mind either way because there's no actual big changes, I will say you need to read that LAST PART of said 2****nd**** chapter.**

**Meanwhile…**

**I only just noticed I actually have comments. I knew I had favs (and thank you to those 6 favs out there, I love you all very much), I was not aware of the comments.**

**THANK YOU COMMENTERS. I will address those now since I have the chance and I really am just that grateful for actually getting comments. I know OC's aren't actually well looked upon (honestly, they're not the easiest to write well either and I know some of you are well aware of that) and I thank you for reading and the encouragement.**

* * *

**Androgynous-Heron****: Thank you, that's so sweet! XD And will do.**

**SmileRen****: I'm sorry to address your question so late, but yes, I plan to continue. I have always planned to continue and the 2****nd**** chapter just took me a while…+_+; Thank you for asking. **

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**On a special note (author's note, get? 8D)…**

**Preview: A cat.**

**Yep. That's pretty much it. XD Thank you for reading this author's note. I will pump out Chapter 3 soon (it isn't as difficult to write).**


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